Reparo
by The Island Hopper
Summary: In order to keep the Buckets from being removed from the Factory, Wonka agrees to something he doesn’t particularly approve of. Normalcy, anyone?
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Reparo in a Rickshickle Dream

**Author:** The Island Hopper

**Summary: **In order to keep the Buckets from being removed from the Factory, Wonka agrees to something he doesn't particularly approve of. Normalcy, anyone?

**Author's Notes: **Geez, I didn't mean to depress everyone with _Cell Block F. _It wasn't my intention to make anyone shed tears, so I apologize if anyone did, but thanks to those of you who reviewed. But, I feel like there's enough emotional turmoil in the world without unduly subjecting yourself to it in fiction. So, on that note, here's something a little lighter, ok? And kudos to anyone who can find the Buffett reference in this story.

* * *

Charlie couldn't be quite sure what had set Ms. Rickshickle off that morning, but felt it probably had something to do with the fact that he'd shown up covered from head to foot in sugary purple soot. 

While in the process of explaining that it was simply the result of an early morning factory experiment gone awry, much of the dusty lavender stuff had been inadvertently shaken off by Charlie's rather animated gestures during his pantomime as to the purpose of "Wonka's Magical Good Luck Dust" experiment, which, ironically, had not been at _all _lucky. The cast-off dust on the floor then gelatinized as it bonded with the stray rain brought in by dozens of pairs of children's shoes belonging to those who chose to play in puddles all morning whilst poor Charlie was nearly being blown to smithereens in the Inventing Room. He hadn't had time to change, Charlie explained to the thin-lipped elderly woman observing him as one might observe old food in the bottom of the dishwasher, and had simply chosen to come to school as he was rather than waste more time getting scrubbed off, which might have taken an _awfully _long time considering the forcible explosion, and wasn't that responsible and civic-minded of him?

After watching four or five of his hapless classmates slip in the purple goo and land flat on their backs (which, Charlie had to admit to himself, very well might have been _worth _the morning's tribulations), Charlie carefully made his way back to his desk, sat down, and slid gracefully, albeit unintentionally, out of his seat twice before deciding his best course of action was simply to cling to the sides of the desk for dear life. The class watched this spectacle in silent awe. This is something they were wont to do with Charlie's seemingly daily Chaotic-Mess-Involving-Mr.-Wonka-And-Or-His-Factory story, and, now that it was out of the way, class could begin.

Things went smoothly for the first fifteen minutes of Ms. Rickshickle's dissertation on the reproductive organs of Amazonian tree frogs. It started with a little scratch. Just a little one, above his temple. A minute later he scratched his thigh. Then his knee. Then his stomach. When Ms. Rickshickle finally turned to her class to make sure they were grasping the irony of a discussion on territorial male mating habits of the tree frog in the political science portion of their day, she was somehow not very surprised to find Charlie Bucket sprawled out on the floor and itching every inch of his body ferociously.

"What is it now, Bucket?" she asked crisply.

"Itches," Charlie managed to stutter. Cindy Pletcher, who sat directly across from Charlie, discreetly moved her foot away from the writhing form. "_Really _itches."

"Go," Ms. Rickshickle said tiredly.

As he did every morning, Charlie made his way down to the nurses' office to receive treatment that, often times, the nurse had no idea how to administer. How does one cure insane itching brought on by falling in a vat of lucky purple soot? Questions akin to these presented themselves to her nearly every day in the form of a fourteen year old boy named Charlie Bucket.

"My _God, _Bucket, did it have to be this early?" the nurse drawled upon seeing her usual patient. "I've barely had time to mentally prepare myself."

"I itch," Charlie said simply as he continued to scratch like a madman. "Pretty bad."

The nurse cocked an eyebrow. "You aren't going to give me a remedy list again, are you? Because I have _no _idea vitzen baye is, or a hornswaggler, or even how to derive wezipan juice from the root of a – "

"No," Charlie said quickly, eager to stop wallowing in itch-induced misery. "I don't have a list. Please, can I just use the sink? I can wash most of this stuff off, I think."

"Well there's a first," she muttered as she turned to the sink, turning on the taps. "I swear, I haven't eaten a single thing from the Wonka factory since you've started coming in here every day looking a different color, or are covered in something entirely unidentifiable to a normal human being, or are only able to walk on your hands, or _something. _What goes _on _in that factory? If this is what happens to the workers," she pointed to Charlie, "I'd hate to think what's happening to the candy."

"Better us than the people who buy it," Charlie said as he practically dove into sink. He splashed a liberal amount of water all over his face, hair, and hands, then proceeded to take off his sweater and chuck it in the garbage can. "I think the sweater is unsalvageable."

"Like my morning," the nurse muttered as she filled out the appropriate paperwork for Charlie's daily visit. He pretended he didn't hear, instead trying to look absorbed in a colorful poster displaying the wonders of the circulatory system. "Sign here," she said finally. "And get back to class. I'll see you tomorrow, I'm sure."

Charlie scrawled his name in the familiar notebook and headed back to class as quickly as he could. Nevertheless, he received a cold stare from Ms. Rickshickle upon his return. "You will see me after class, Bucket," she said icily, eyes bulging. Charlie couldn't help but to notice the amazing facial similarities of she and the giant cartoon insect on a poster directly behind her. "_Some_thing needs to be done about this. I can't have you disrupting the class every day, can I?"

_If you had any idea how distracting it is watching the hairy wart on the end of your nose dance when you talk, you'd shut up about my disruptions, _Charlie thought to himself as he nodded demurely to his teacher. She set her lips and turned back to her lesson…but what spiders who laid their eggs in unsuspecting victims had to do with Wal-Mart's impact on small business economics, he might never know.

"You see, Bucket," Ms. Rickshickle said slowly that afternoon as she and Charlie sat alone in the classroom, "I simply can_not_ teach with you coming in covered in purple gunk every day."

_You simply cannot teach period, _Charlie thought. "But, Ms. Rickshickle, in all fairness, it was only _this_ morningthat I was covered in purple gunk…"

"Yes, and tomorrow your feet will be as big as skis, and the day after that you will only be able to speak backwards, etc., etc. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"No," Charlie said, though he did. The opportunity to toy with his teacher was simply too much fun to pass up. "Because it would do no good to have feet as big as skis. The people in the ski industry would be quite upset. And besides that, you'd be stubbing your toes on doorways you're three feet away from. That's no fun."

"Bucket."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Please shut up."

"Yes ma'am."

"I'll tell you what I want you do to, and if you refuse, you are no longer welcome in my classroom."

Charlie sat up a little higher in his seat. That was the best news he'd heard all week.

"You will, instead, be required to sit _outside _the classroom, and listen _in _on the lecture." Ms. Rickshickle's face contorted into what might have been a smile on a normal person but came out more of a dire grimace. "And I shall be sure to bring in industrial fans to keep you company in the hallway. Perhaps I will even arrange for the school band to practice outside our door."

"May I conduct them? Will they take requests?"

"Bucket."

"Sorry."

"Bring this Mr. Wonka to me," she said evenly, tapping her index finger lightly on her desk. "I want to speak to the man responsible for…for _this," _Ms. Rickshickle flicked her finger in the general direction of Charlie as if she were pointing out a bogey to him.

Frowning, Charlie said, "Why do you want to speak to him? He's not responsible. _I'm _the one whoslipped in the puddle of jelly and dove headfirst into the vat of soot, not him. He might have cried."

"Bucket, you seem to be talking again. Kindly stop."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Bring him to me," she repeated, looking sternly into her student's eyes. "Or face the consequences. I want him _here _at no later than four o'clock tomorrow. I'll make him see reason."

_You'd be the first, _Charlie thought. However, on the outside he only shrugged. "Ms. Rickshickle, I'll be honest with you. I wouldn't expect him to come if I were you. He doesn't really…do the whole 'outside world' thing. You know. Reclusive genius and all that."

"You tell him he either comes or his heir remains at a ninth grade education level for the rest of his life."

Swallowing hard, Charlie stood up slowly. "Well, in that case, I'll see what I can do."

"See that you do. And think about it, Bucket. Do you really want the most literate book you're ever able to read to be _Johnny Tremain?" _

Charlie shuddered. "No ma'am. He'll be here. I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

"But I _promised," _Charlie said in a voice that bordered on a whine later on that evening to Mr. Wonka in the Inventing Room. "You don't seem to realize, Mr. Wonka, that unless you come, I will be forced to listen to the junior band practice hideous renditions of _Eine Kleine Nachtmusik _repeatedly until June."

"Well, that sounds preferable to what she teaches you, it sounds like. Whoever heard of Amazonian tree frogs?"

"Mr. Wonka," Charlie said in an exasperated tone. "Put yourself in my shoes."

"Impossible! They're too small. My toes would ache."

"_Look. _I'm not asking you to like it. I'm just asking you to come."

Mr. Wonka shot him a look. "Isn't this usually a _parent _thing? Why can't your parents go instead of me?"

Continually amazed whenever Mr. Wonka could say the 'p' word without stuttering, Charlie nevertheless frowned at his mentor. "She didn't ask for my parents. She asked for you."

"Does she know you _have _parents? Maybe she just thinks you were left on the factory doorstep. Like a puppy. Or Stone Phillips."

"Of course she knows I have parents!" Charlie burst. "But she thinks _you're _the one who's responsible for me coming into her classroom every morning looking like I work at a carnival."

"Really, Charlie," Mr. Wonka said, looking offended. "You? A carnie? No. I wouldn't allow it."

"Look," Charlie said again, rubbing his forehead. Trying to talk Wonka into doing anything reasonable was like getting blood from a Stone Philips. "Even if it doesn't make sense to you, will you do it for me? As a friend?" he pleaded hopefully.

Sighing, but not looking up from his work, Mr. Wonka said, "If it didn't make sense, dear boy, I'd do it in a second. But if you want me to go that badly, I will. But you have to do something for me."

"Name it."

"You must first pluck my magic twanger."

Charlie looked horrified. "W-What?"

From beneath the counter, Wonka produced a small handheld candy dispenser with several prongs attached to it. Wonka plucked one of the prongs, which, in fact, made a "twang" sound and a small, round piece of candy shot up straight in the air, which he caught expertly in his mouth. "I haven't got a name for it yet. And your mother told me I might not want to call it a 'Magic Twanger.' Said something about angry mothers picketing outside the gates…"

Relieved, Charlie's shoulders sank. "Just be there at four o'clock tomorrow, all right?"

"Where?"

"The _school." _

"Oh, that. Sure thing. I'll be there."


	3. Chapter 3

He wasn't there.

Charlie checked his watch nervously for the sixth time in seemingly as many seconds. 4:03. No doubt Wonka had forgotten. And now Charlie would never know the joys of Greek tragedy. 4:05. Or fetal pig dissection. 4:06. Or even playing dodge ball using cushy Nerf balls instead of old, hardened soccer balls left for the younger classmen. Charlie felt dodge ball might actually be fun if he wasn't in danger of rupturing his spleen from 1980's soccer balls in traction. 4:08.

Suddenly a door in the deserted hallway flew open and a dozen pots and pans, along with Mr. Wonka, came crashing into the hallway, followed by a woman's scream. "I'm sorry!" Mr. Wonka yelled back into the room as he stood up and brushed himself off. "Not to worry, though! I'm sure jello tastes _just _the same after being stepped on a few times!"

"Mr. Wonka!" Charlie hissed as he grabbed the bewildered man by the arm and began dragging him away. "Where have you been?"

"I had the most horrific adventure involving gelatin. You know, I think I came in the wrong door."

"And the entirety of the home economics class will have to re-do their meals now, no doubt. So much for stealth," Charlie muttered as he continued to drag Mr. Wonka towards Ms. Rickshickle's door. "Now remember. Act as normal as possible."

"Normal?" Mr. Wonka's face turned a shade paler. If that was possible.

"_Yes. _Please, Mr. Wonka, you have to act _normal. _If you don't…well…I don't want to think about it," Charlie said as he shut his eyes, trying to block the thought of being forced to listen to squeaky clarinets for the next six months.

"I think I should tell you Charlie, that normal has never been something I'm good at."

"Look, we'll practice, all right?" Charlie stopped their striding march and looked at his mentor seriously. "Now, I'm going to ask you how you are. And you answer as normally as possible." Charlie took a deep breath. "How are you, Mr. Wonka?"

Wonka frowned, threw a glance over his shoulder and said, "I just told you that I had a rather unpleasant encounter with green gelatin and walnuts. Furthermore, there seem to be gerbils in the plumbing, judging by the scratching noises I heard above me as I climbed in through the air shaft. I had to. I couldn't find the front door. Hey, this is your school, isn't it? Is this your locker? Do _you _have any gerbils inside? Can we put them in the jello? What if…oh, Charlie, what if we made _Jello Jerbils, _huh? Wouldn't that be neat?"

"See, this is where we run into problems," Charlie said patiently. "Why don't you just say, 'I'm doing fine'?"

"Because it would be a lie."

"Then lie." Charlie looked again at his watch and his eyes widened. "Oh, God. Come on, we have to go." The dragging began again. "Just…just…do your best, all right? And remember – _normal." _

The duo was met at Ms. Rickshickle's door by said woman and a rather pale, unkempt looking man in a business suit who looked as though he'd spent the last six hundred years in gridlocked traffic. Charlie swallowed. This wasn't good.

"So kind of you to show up," Ms. Rickshickle quipped snappishly. "And to think we'd been so stupid as to expect you to come on time."

"Sorry," Charlie said quickly, then practically shoved Mr. Wonka in front of him. "This is him, this is Mr. Wonka, Ms. Rickshickle. I told you I'd get him here, and I have."

"Ah, Mr. Wonka," the swarthy man said, extending his hand and forcing his lips upwards in an action that might have been an effort at a smile. "So pleasant to meet you. I'm a big fan of your candies. I especially like the Maple Whip Delight."

"Really? Those are awful!" Mr. Wonka laughed in his impossibly falsetto laugh. "I only sell them because there's so many of them stockpiled in boxes in the storage room. Do you know," he said, leaning in close to the man, "that I actually only made _one _batch of them, about fifteen years ago?"

The man looked a bit sickened at having eaten fifteen year old candy all this time. "That's…fascinating," he managed to stutter in what Charlie felt was a heroic attempt at not vomiting.

"Yeah! Waste not, want not," Mr. Wonka tittered.

"Mr. Wonka, I'm Philomena Rickshickle," Ms. Rickshickle said, unceremoniously pushing her way in front of the swarthy man. "How are you, sir?"

Mr. Wonka opened his mouth to speak, looked warily down at Charlie, and then forced a smile. "Fine," he said flatly. Charlie exhaled in relief.

"Good. Then we can get down to business."

Mr. Wonka looked slightly offended and apprehensive as Ms. Rickshickle motioned for he and Charlie to sit at the student desks. Gingerly, Mr. Wonka sat down and tried to smile. "Now then Ms. Shingles," he said. "Charlie says you wanted to tell me something."

"It's _Rickshickle, _Mr. Wonka. It's Anglo-Polish."

"So it is," Wonka said amicably. "My apologies." He wanted to add _for being born with that last name, _but managed to keep his mouth shut.

"And this is Mr. Ginker. He is a psychologist from the State office, Mr. Wonka."

Both Wonka and Charlie instantly did not like where this was going. However, Mr. Wonka nodded cheerfully towards the man and said, "How interesting! I always thought a Ginker was an Indo-Pacific species of retarded fish."

"Please, Mr. Wonka!" Ms. Rickshickle warbled. "Mr. Ginker is concerned, like me, that Charlie's home environment might be…how to put this kindly…too _unconventional_ to equip him with the social skills he needs to excel in civilian life," she finished with a sickly smile. She had obviously practiced this moment in the mirror.

Mr. Wonka shifted uncomfortably. "What does that have to do with me?" he asked in a small, nervous voice, not looking up. "It's not like I'm his fa – uh, his fa – his – "

"No, and I suppose we should be thankful for that much," Ms. Rickshickle said, not masking the contempt in her voice. "I can't imagine what strange frivolities might ensue from your own offspring. Heaven forbid you ever procreate." Mr. Wonka smiled nervously, still not looking up, and looking completely out of place in the quite atypical classroom. "But you are, and Mr. Ginker agrees with me, a large influence on young Charlie here. Why, you are his mentor, are you not? He is your apprentice?"

"Yes," Wonka answered simply.

"And you must spend a large amount of time with him, training him and such. Am I correct in my assumptions?"

"Yes."

"Well!" Ms. Rickshickle chirped in triumph, folding her hands on her desk. "And we've seen what sort of influence _that _is."

"From what Ms. Rickshickle has told me, Mr. Wonka, Charlie often times comes to class in a rather…abnormal state," Mr. Ginker said. "For instance, just yesterday, he seemed to be covered in…what was it again, Ms. Rickshickle?"

"Goo," she answered, her mouth forming a perfect 'o.'

"Yes. Goo. And the home office is concerned that Charlie is being raised in an unsafe and unsuitable environment."

Mr. Wonka finally looked up, his eyes flashing anger for a moment before resuming his normal placid stare. He forced another smile. "He is perfectly safe, I assure you both. I wouldn't let anything happen to him." Charlie smiled a bit until Wonka went on to say, "I mean, do you _know _how much trouble I went through to even _find _an heir? Just the thought of going through that…that _ordeal _again sends shivers up and down my spine. No, this one will have to do. I _have _to keep him alive."

Ms. Rickshickle and Mr. Ginker gave each other knowing looks before Mr. Ginker said, "But what about Charlie's broken arm last year? And when he missed a week of school due to a strange strain of flu obtained in…where was it again, Mr. Wonka?"

"Leaky Bottom Lagoon. It's a lovely place."

"Where is it?"

"Somewhere between the Port of Indecision and southwest of Disorder," Mr. Wonka answered with dreamy look on his face.

Mr. Ginker shifted and let a frustrated sound escape his lips. "Mr. Wonka, I have to say, I don't feel comfortable in allowing Charlie to continue to live in his current situation."

"What about my parents? You don't honestly think they'd let anything happen to me, do you?" Charlie demanded.

Mr. Ginker gave him a condescending smile. "But you both just agreed that you spend an _awful _lot of time together. Don't you think, Ms. Rickshickle, that it is entirely possible that Charlie's parents do not know the conditions which Charlie is subjected to on a daily basis?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Ginker. I think it's quite possi – "

"What do you mean, 'subjected to'? The factory is the most wonderful place in the world," Charlie said in a shaking voice as he stood up. In the years since coming to the factory, Charlie had found one of his niches in being the voice of defense when it came to defending both the factory and Wonka himself. Often times, he was the only one who would do either. "Mr. Wonka wouldn't let anything bad happen to me. Just last week he pulled me back just as I was about to fall in one of the caramel mixers."

"Charlie!" Mr. Wonka hissed in a fierce whisper. Mr. Wonka wasn't stupid, and knew an ambush when he saw it; his heir was only making the situation worse by explaining what the two ignoramuses in front of them wouldn't, and couldn't, ever understand.

"And the week before that, when he told me to stay away from the notzwingers on the marshmallow tilling farm, I didn't listen to him, and sure enough I got bit! But he _told _me to stay away from them, because he knew they were dangerous!"

"Charlie, stop!" Mr. Wonka whispered again.

"Endangerment of a child, sounds like to me," Mr. Ginker said as he made a note on his pad. Ms. Rickshickle nodded brusquely.

"He's been to all the places that no one else has even heard of, he knows all the secret ingredients to make the best candy in the world, and what's more, he knows the zoology of all the species no one even _knows _about!"

"Really," Mr. Ginker said in an even voice. "He knows a lot about things that…no one else knows anything about?" Charlie nodded. "Then how does he know them?"

"He's _been _to those places and he's _seen _those things!" Charlie spat.

"Hallucinations. Interesting," he said, once more writing it down on his pad. He chuckled a bit and threw a withering glance at Wonka. "They always said you had a lot of…_imagination." _

"Hey!" Charlie shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. "You _can't _talk to him like that!"

"Dear boy, calm yourself," Mr. Wonka said, giving Charlie a sidelong glance that meant, _My turn. _"There are some people in this world who only believe what they have seen, or what they have been told to believe. They are ignorant, Charlie, and we just have to get used to it. There are a lot of them."

"Ignorant, am I?" Mr. Ginker said huffily, throwing his pad down on the end of Ms. Rickshickle's desk. Mr. Wonka sat back in satisfaction; he'd drawn the attention away from Charlie and back onto himself like he'd wanted. It was one thing to ambush an old hand like Wonka, but doing it to a young kid like Charlie was an unforgivable act in Wonka's eyes. "Well, you'd be surprised what 'ignorant' people can do in large groups, Mr. Wonka."

"Oh, I already am," Mr. Wonka said truthfully.

Mr. Ginker gritted his teeth. "I _meant _we have the power to take Charlie away if we felt he was in danger."

"No!" Charlie said in a panicked voice, suddenly grabbing the fabric on his mentor's overcoat as if they would be torn away that second.

"Charlie, you're not going anywhere," Mr. Wonka said in a reassuring voice and releasing himself from the iron grip of his heir. "I wouldn't allow it. Do I have to explain about the Ordeal again?"

"This piece of paper right here," Mr. Ginker said as he pulled a pink piece of paper from his briefcase and waved it around, "Gives me the absolute authority to do whatever I see fit in this situation."

"And what do you see fit?" Mr. Wonka tried not to betray anxiety in his voice. He hated being reminded that though he was not of the world, he was still required, in some ways, to be a part of it. Wonka rightly felt that bureaucracy, in a word, sucked.

"Look, Mr. Wonka, I'm a reasonable man. I don't want to have to take Charlie away." _Liar, _Mr. Wonka thought. "So I'm going to give you another option. Your mental stability is obviously in question here. I believe, as does Ms. Rickshickle, that it very well might be at the root of Charlie's…_conditions _each school day. In fact, I could give you a mental competency test right now, and feel fairly certain that you would fail it. However, there are ways to remedy the mental balance and perhaps rectify the entire situation." Mr. Ginker leaned towards Mr. Wonka. "Medications, Mr. Wonka, can do wonders. I will allow Charlie to stay with you on the condition that you take mental stability medications for sixty days, just to even you out. These pills will help you to see reality as the rest of us see it. Mr. Wonka, you will finally be able to operate at a rational level. They will _fix _you, Mr. Wonka. Won't that be wonderful?" Wonka stared at him blankly. Mr. Ginker cleared his throat and continued. "At the end of the sixty days, you can take the State mental competency test. If you perform well on this test, we will have no reason to continue our investigation."

"You mean, you'll leave me alone forever?"

"Yes," Mr. Ginker said. "But _only _– "

"If I take the stupid medication, I got it," Mr. Wonka growled. He sighed impatiently, ready to be done with this drivel. "What is the other option?"

"The other option, Mr. Wonka, is that Charlie would be immediately removed from the factory's environs and a restraining order placed against you."

"You can't do that! Only me or someone of my family could get a restraining order against Mr. Wonka," Charlie piped up.

Mr. Ginker gave him another condescending smile. "My dear child," he said in a syrupy voice, "If we suspect you are in danger, we can do whatever we want."

"Well he's not going to take any stupid drugs, because he doesn't need them!" Charlie cried. "He wouldn't be able to do the work that he does if he's…if he's taking something like that. You talk about mental balance. The balance needed for his level of creativity is already there."

"This isn't about creativity. It's about reckless endangerment of a minor," Mr. Ginker said, standing up. "But if that's the way you want it, I'll go ahead and escort Charlie to a local Safe House, and we can begin – "

"Wait," Mr. Wonka interjected softly. He heaved a shaky sigh and swallowed hard. "I'll take it," he said quietly.

Charlie looked like someone had slapped him in the face while Mr. Ginker looked elated. "Wonderful!" he cheered. "I knew you'd see it my way."

"Mr. Wonka," Charlie whispered to his mentor. "Those – those drugs, you won't be the same – "

"I'll be fine, as long as you're there to help me out, ok?" Mr. Wonka said, trying his best to put on a brave smile. "You're my helper, right? My apprentice. Well, now here's a little test to see how much you've learned."

Charlie felt like he might cry. "You don't have to this," he whispered. "We'll leave, the whole family, we'll go away and you can keep working, you – "

"Charlie," Mr. Wonka said in an uncharacteristically firm voice. He looked at his mentor straight in the eyes, which was unusual. "I've made up my mind." Charlie looked dumbstruck as Mr. Ginker handed Wonka a doctor's prescription for one of the strongest mental illness drugs on the market and smiled.

"I think you'll be seeing some pleasant changes in your life pretty soon, Mr. Wonka," Mr. Ginker said, daintily shaking Wonka's hand. "And we'll see you in sixty days."

"And then you'll leave me alone."

"If you pass the test, yes."

Mr. Wonka looked down at the prescription slip and swallowed again. He looked up and forced a smile. "Thank you, Mr. Ginky. And Ms. Rickyshicky."

Despite the situation, Charlie nearly laughed at the dark looks on Mr. Ginker and Ms. Rickshickle's faces. Mr. Wonka wasn't beaten yet.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Charlie said quickly, shooting Ginker and Rickshickle looks that could kill. He grabbed Mr. Wonka's arm and pulled him out of the overbearing atmosphere of the classroom. As soon as they were safely out in the hallway and beyond the sight of the two trolls in the classroom, Charlie grabbed the pink prescription slip and threw it in the nearest garbage can. "Don't need that, do we?" he said brightly. "And no one has to know."

Silently, Mr. Wonka fished the paper out and kept his eyes locked on it.

"Mr. Wonka?" Charlie asked in confused voice. "You're not really going to take that, are you?"

"Boy, you've got some fire in your belly, don't you?" Mr. Wonka said, evading the question and giving Charlie a strained smile. "Telling those…bureaucratically important…officials _all about _life at the factory. About dangerous animals. Open vats. _And _strange ingredients in my candies that they've never heard of. You know, you told _me _to lie."

It wasn't often that Charlie irritated Wonka, and Wonka never openly scolded his heir, but the times when he had to remind Charlie to pick his battles were increasing now that Charlie becoming a short-tempered teenager who had gradually become over-protective of those people – and places – he loved. Charlie's shoulders sank and he jammed his hands in his jeans pockets. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wonka. I just get so _mad _when people start asking questions about my family and about the factory…" He shook his head slowly, his gaze not leaving the marred tile floor of the hallway. "It's none of their business."

"That's never stopped people like them before." Mr. Wonka looked up at his heir, and Charlie was surprised to find Wonka looked worried. "But perhaps I should take them, Charlie, I mean if the things they were saying are true – "

"They _aren't, _and you know it."

"You _do _seem to have a lot of accidents."

"They're _my _fault."

"Charlie," Mr. Wonka said again in a strangely serious voice. "I don't know if you even realize how close I was today to losing you and your family." Charlie was speechless; anything like emotion coming from Wonka was indeed rare. Mr. Wonka continued on in a hushed voice. "And I don't want to do anything that might risk it further. What if they show up on the factory doorstep and test me to see if I've been taking it? What if they come to check up on things and see that _nothing's _changed? And when they come to give me that test and I fail it? They'll _know _something's up and they will follow through on their threats. No, Charlie, this is getting dangerous now."

"What's _dangerous _is that stuff they want you to take."

"It can't be worse than losing all of you," Mr. Wonka said, averting his gaze. Charlie bit his lip, amazed at this – for Wonka – emotional outpouring.

"Mr. Wonka," Charlie said in a frustrated tone. "These – these _drugs _aren't something that will just get flushed out of your system with time. They're going to alter the chemistry of your brain. Don't you get it? You'll never be the same."

Mr. Wonka did look a little shaken but said, "Nonsense, Charlie. Alter me? No. Impossible."

Charlie sighed. "All right," he said finally, scratching his temple. "If that's what you want."

"Charlie, there are many important things you need to learn about running my factory," Mr. Wonka said as they began to amble towards the front exit. "Chief among these is to never, ever underestimate your mentor…"


	4. Chapter 4

It was raining again. The phenomenon hadn't been unusual in the past few weeks, as it had been raining practically non-stop for close to a fortnight. Charlie pulled his hood tighter around his face and jogged the rest of the way back to the factory in the rain, dreading the evening to come. Upon entering his house, he saw that his family and Wonka were already seated at the dinner table, obviously having awaited his arrival.

"Sorry I'm a bit late," he mumbled.

"Did you get them Charlie?" Mrs. Bucket asked nervously, echoing the thoughts of everyone in the room.

Charlie set his jaw. "Yeah. I got them." From his coat pocket he pulled a crinkled, white paper bag and threw it on the table, almost as if its contents disgusted him. Perhaps they did. "That's it, there. Sixty days' supply."

Mr. Wonka's face suddenly became drawn. Mrs. Bucket caught this. "Willy, you don't have to do this – "

"I don't know what everyone's so worried about!" Wonka said in a falsely bright tone that fooled no one as he ripped open the bag and eyed the meds inside. "I'm not worried. These things don't scare me at all. No, siree."

"And Audrey Hepburn will fly from my ass," Grandpa George muttered. He shook his head. "Look. It's going to be weirder having you be normal than it is for you to just be weird. At least we're _used _to it now."

"Dad, we've gone over this," Mr. Bucket said wearily. "It's Willy's decision. He has to decide what's best for him."

"That's right, and it's exactly the same thing Mrs. Bucket said about my Magic Twanger the other night," Wonka said, not noticing the bewildered look Mr. Bucket shot at his wife. Charlie put his face in his hands. "She said, 'Willy, it's yours. You can do whatever you want with it. And I'll certainly try some if you're offering.' Well, it's the same idea. Because whether it's a Twanger or a pill it's still going down the same throat, isn't it?"

Charlie snorted some of his water while the rest of the family, sans Wonka, blushed. Wonka looked up from his plate, ever oblivious, and smiled.

"Well, time to take the leap, I guess," he said, grabbing the plastic bottle. It took about twenty prolonged seconds of much twisting, turning and mumbling at the childproof lid before Mrs. Bucket took it from him calmly, opened it, and handed it back to him. He shook one pill from the enormous container and his eyes widened. "Charlie, are you sure you didn't go to the veterinarian's office?" he asked in a puzzled voice, the huge pill in his palm. "Because this pill seems to be much larger than anything a member of _homo sapiens _could swallow."

"Just take it with lots of water," Charlie suggested.

Eyeing the pill warily, Mr. Wonka gripped his glass of water tightly as though it could save him from the monstrosity he was about to swallow. Dramatically, he threw his head back, dropped in the pill, and managed to drink about half of the water in his glass before his eyes bugged and he emitted the most extraordinary _erg-KACK _sound, sending the pill flying across the table, where it hit a rather unamused Grandpa George squarely in the forehead before clattering to the surface on the table. No one moved for a moment, mesmerized by the pill as it rolled to a stop. Wonka then erupted into a violent coughing fit, complete with watery eyes and strange _hic_-y, gaspy noises. Mrs. Bucket patted him on the back gingerly until the fit subsided and turned her gaze to the soggy pill on the table.

"Let's cut one in half, shall we?" she said in a cheerful voice. She took a fresh pill, split it in two, and handed the two pieces to the still-recovering Wonka.

"Thank you," he rasped in the reedy voice that comes after a battle with a pill that refuses to be swallowed. These went down with no protest, much to everyone's (especially Grandpa George's) relief. Mrs. Bucket gave him an encouraging smile.

"There, dear. Now all that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Behind his hands, Wonka pouted.


	5. Chapter 5

The next afternoon Charlie could tell something was horribly wrong. Wonka was in his office. Quietly. Doing paperwork.

_Paperwork. _

It was not as if this was a new chore, but it was one Wonka usually tried to pile onto anyone else who seemed even remotely convenient at the time, including Charlie. Charlie had been filling out service forms and calculating profit predictions before he'd even learned what all of the kooky math symbols were, resulting in some rather interesting product placement and budgeting. In fact, it was probably due to Charlie's sometimes creative solutions to unsolvable math problems that resulted in the horrible Maple Whip Delights still being on the shelves.

But even the thought of something practically inedible coming out of Wonka's factory was far less disturbing than the sight of Willy Wonka sitting calmly behind his desk, for all purposes looking quite content in rounding off integers in product estimations. Charlie blinked twice to make sure he was, in fact, awake, and had not been knocked unconscious by a speeding vehicle on the walk home from school, resulting in a hideous vision of normalcy in the Wonka Factory.

Deep breath.

"Mr. Wonka? Willy?" Charlie said carefully, approaching the desk as one might a dying hospital patient. "Are you all right?"

"My dear boy!" Wonka said, looking up with a tranquil smile. "How was your day at school? Sit down and tell me all about it."

Charlie sat down slowly on a seat across from Wonka, never taking his eyes off the man. Wonka's voice was different today. It sounded like…it sounded like a normal person's voice should. It was not squeaky. It was not even nervous. Charlie fought the urge to run away screaming. "You've never asked me about my day. You always jump out of your chair the moment you see me and demand that we quit wasting time with things like hellos and get down to work."

"Well I'm asking you now, aren't I?" Wonka answered, cocking his head to the side.

Charlie gave him a befuddled look. It was entirely too logical an answer for someone like Wonka. "I-I guess it was ok, Mr. Wonka. H-How was yours?"

Wonka looked thoughtful for a moment before responding, "Productive."

They sat and stared at each other in complete silence for a good minute before Charlie shifted uncomfortably and said, "Well…what are we doing today, Willy? Lassoing those wild kumquats, are we? You know, I've been looking forward to it all week – "

"That can wait. The strangest thing occurred to me this morning as I was doing some inventory. Charlie, you know all about _making _candy, but nothing about the _business _of candy."

Though still reeling from the thought of Wonka actually taking time to do inventory, Charlie did a double take. "The…business?" he said, as if the thought of the Wonka Factory being a business had never crossed his mind.

"Of course! It can't _all _be wild excursions into parts unknown, adventures in Inventing Room explosions, and the like. Once in a while, we just have to get down and dirty with the paperwork." Charlie was disturbed to see that Wonka seemed to be enjoying this.

It was not as disturbing as things to come, however.

The changes started slowly at first and could almost be overlooked. One morning as Charlie bounded out of his house and into the meadow on his way to school, the ground below him was considerably squishier than it ever had been before. Though lost in thought about his reading assignment for Rickshickle's class – which he had not done, instead devoting the previous evening to the nearly impossible feat of making black jelly beans taste good – he couldn't help but notice his trek seemed a bit skooshy and he looked down. His breath caught in his throat. The grass below him, which was normally a brilliant emerald, was wilting. And bordering on being brown.

Charlie justified this as the meadow not getting a good sugar water drenching in some time and went on his way. Dying swudge or not, it wouldn't be an excuse Rickshickle would hear of. He made a mental note to ask Mr. Wonka about it that night at dinner.

"How should I know?" Mr. Wonka said, with a slight tinge of impatience in his voice as he gloped more mashed potatoes on his plate. "Swudge is a fickle breed of plant, Charlie."

"But you made it," Charlie pointed out.

Pretending not to hear, Mr. Wonka said brightly, "I showed Charlie how to project earnings today!"

The other members of the family stared at him blankly for a moment. Heroically, Mr. Bucket piped up and responded, "Well…that's great, Charlie…I'm sure it was very…uh…informative."

Charlie resisted the teenage urge to say something ugly.

"And he caught on after only a few hours," Wonka said with a smile but gritting his teeth. "Just a _few. _A few hours which we could have spent doing something else."

"Yeah, like double-checking packing addresses. Or inspecting the new packing foam. Or something equally as important," Charlie said somewhat sarcastically. "I haven't seen the inside of the Inventing Room in nearly a week."

"Well, it's still there, I assure you." Something in this made Charlie lift an eyebrow but he remained silent. He noticed that Wonka rarely made eye contact with him anymore; it wasn't as if it was usual to begin with, but now even seemed more rare. Wonka sighed quickly. "Why don't we go after dinner, hm?"

Charlie sat up a little straighter. "Yeah, that sounds great!"

But Charlie soon found he was foolish to think that things would be the same. As Wonka fiddled with the third failed experiment of the evening, Charlie couldn't help but feel uneasy. It wasn't unusual for experiments to go awry, or to even flat out _not work, _but at least Wonka usually knew what the problem was and could remedy it quickly. But looking at Wonka now, he seemed to display something entirely new – confusion.

"I can't for the _life _of me understand why this isn't working," he muttered as the fourth failure began to bubble angrily. He leaned over the bowl, added a pinch of something pink, only to have the whole concoction make a giant _POOF _sound that left Wonka looking decidedly pinker than he had before. They sat in stunned silence for a moment before Wonka calmly pulled out a notebook. "Pink stuff…does not…work," he muttered as he wrote it down.

"You mean you don't even know what the pink stuff was?"

Wonka scratched his temple. "Well…to be honest…I can't really remember what it is. I _used _to know, but I've forgotten, it seems." He laughed nervously. "Silly, huh?"

The next afternoon, Charlie stepped into the Elevator, looking forward to a long, blissful evening of swimming in the pool made up entirely of brightly colored plastic balls and found that the button for that room was gone. Vanished. Confused, he looked up and down the columns of buttons to see if perhaps he had simply had a memory lapse as to the button's location, but no. It was nowhere to be seen. As his eyes roamed the rounded buttons, he couldn't help but notice the candy vegetable room was gone. And the My Size Lollipops room. Even the chocolate musical instruments room was nowhere to be found. Standing up to his full height, Charlie walked stiffly from the Elevator in shock.

He stumbled back into the swudge meadow and tripped over something, sending him crashing to the ground. Rolling over, he saw that it was a branch from one of the bubble gum trees. He frowned. He'd never known a bubble gum tree to lose a branch before. Looking up into said tree, his mouth dropped open. The whole tree seemed to leaning to one side and withering. It was the first thing he'd ever seen in the chocolate room…die. Charlie scrambled up and practically ran back to his house, not wanting to believe what he'd just seen.

But it wasn't an isolated incident. If buttons disappearing and inventions not working wasn't enough, there was now an eerie silence that descended over the Wonka factory. The machines continued to churn. The trucks continued to come and go from the factory, but it wasn't the same. Even the Oompa-Loompas seemed to sense something was up, and Charlie found that he'd seen far less of them than he normally did. He couldn't altogether convince himself that _they _weren't disappearing too.

It wasn't just buttons and Oompa-Loompas that were slowly vanishing, either. On several occasions, Charlie spotted a vacant spot in a room he could have _sworn _once held a machine or two. Where had they gone? And, much to Charlie's shock, there were three separate occurrences when even the _room _he was looking for was not where they were supposed to be. In fact, they was not anywhere at all. They were gone.

Wonka never seemed to understand what exactly Charlie was trying to ask him whenever he'd bring up the strange disappearances, and brushed it off as nothing to worry about. But worry Charlie did, and as he watched Willy Wonka fill out another inventory slip in the stocking room where they were, it hit him:

This was the place for Wonka's eccentricity, but now that that was gone, so were the things which were the _products _of that eccentricity.

Oy.

Charlie's impatience finally caught up with him one day as he and Wonka were filling out the forms for the new labels. He'd managed to keep his mouth shut for seven of the eight weeks of supposed "treatment," but could stand it not one second longer. Charlie threw down his pen on the desk and sighed, hoping for once Wonka would evade his questions. "Level with me here. You _hate _this stuff. All this red tape and bureaucracy. You've said it yourself. So what are we _doing _here?"

"Well, I'm sorry if you don't seem to think that label colors are important, Charlie. You know, I was reading this article in a psychology journal that certain colors will induce hunger more than others. So, if we can get those colors onto our labels, more people will buy Wonka's! Won't that be wonderful?"

Charlie winced. "Since when have we needed help selling Wonka's?"

"Charlie, the profit – "

"_And _the profit. We're doing _fine. _But this – " he pointed to the scattered pile of papers in front of them, " – is just…is just _boondoggling." _

Wonka looked offended. "Boondoggling? Really, Charlie. Do you honestly think I'd spend my time _boondoggling?" _

"_Now _I do!" Charlie cried, standing up. He made an exasperated sound. "That damn psychologist Ginker was right about all this, you know. I don't know whether he and his psychiatrist cronies knew that _this _would have been the effect of that stuff they gave you, but I hate it. I _hate _it, Mr. Wonka. This is idiotic, and if this is what it's going to be like from now on, I don't want any part of Wonka's. Understand? _I don't want any part of it._" Charlie sighed and looked down at his mentor, shaking his head. "I'll be outside in the hallway," he said quietly. "When you come to your senses, I'll be waiting."

With a this, Charlie turned and left the room, slamming the door dramatically behind him. A small smile crept up on Wonka's face and a chuckle escaped his lips. "Don't worry, Charlie," Wonka said softly in his old voice. "Nothing is ever as it seems at first."

A few hours later just as the sun was setting, Wonka emerged from the office to find his heir sitting on his floor, chin to his chest, fast asleep. The sight of a sleeping Charlie never ceased to cause a sentimental feeling arise deep in Wonka. He wasn't quite sure why, but he felt a sort of brotherly affection for the boy who had grown into a headstrong teenager. This transformation was just as baffling to Wonka as the affection he felt, but he also knew that Charlie's coming adulthood sometimes led him to miscalculate exactly what and who Willy Wonka was. This was infinitely more troubling to him than what any medication could do to him.

Or, in Wonka's case, _couldn't _do to him.

Wonka leaned down to the sleeping form and touched his shoulder lightly. "Charlie?" he whispered. The teenager did not stir. Wonka smiled and patted his heir's head lightly.

"Have faith, Charlie," he whispered to the sleeping boy. "Have faith in me."


	6. Chapter 6

The dawn of Wonka's test day broke glum and uninspiring. Charlie met the sun as it freed itself from the horizon from his position in one of the upper rooms of the factory which afforded a breathtaking view of the town below. He was feeling as apathetic as the weather looked, and found himself wondering if he even wanted to stay in a factory whose proprietor was wholly sane. Chewing his lip, Charlie mulled this until out of the corner of his eye he spotted a black sedan pulling in front of the factory gates. He glanced at his watch. 7:30. They were right on time.

Charlie hopped down from the sill and jogged to Wonka's office, where he pounded heatedly on the door. "Mr. Wonka," he said loudly. "They're here." He heard some shuffling inside the office and a moment later the door opened to reveal Wonka's sleep-deprived face. Charlie flinched. "Have you been up all night?"

"Never mind that, Charlie. Would you escort the gentlemen in here, please?"

It was, in fact, the last thing on earth Charlie Bucket wanted to do at the moment but he was used to compliance and met the car at the gates. The early morning air was crisp and downright chilly, but the internal anger of Charlie was enough to keep him warm. Shooting the car a dirty look he didn't care if they saw, he forced open the rusted gates and allowed the car to enter before closing them again and locking them tight.

A saggy man Charlie immediately recognized at Ginker emerged from the car, and a younger gentleman with an apparently permanent apologetic look on his face got out on the other side.

"Mr. Ginker," Charlie said flatly as he approached the car. "Mr. Wonka's waiting for you. I'll take you to him."

"Thank you, Charlie. And how are you today?" Ginker asked slowly, as if Charlie couldn't speak English.

"I've been better," he answered shortly, marching furiously up the stairs and through the door. He held it open for them and slammed it shut as soon as they were all inside. "Come on," he barked. "This way."

Ginker and his associate had to practically run to keep up with Charlie, who felt he could only keep his fury at bay if he was too out of breath to express it. They arrived at said door a few moments later where Charlie came to a sudden halt and jerked his head towards a pair of large, mahogany doors. "In there," he said.

As if on cue, both of the doors flew open to reveal Wonka standing in the doorway. "Mr. Ginky!" he cried. "So good to see you again!"

Ginker shifted in annoyance. "It's _Ginker, _Mr. Wonka. And it's not _Mr. _It's _Dr. _I let it slide during our first meeting, but feel that if we are to conduct today's test, then you should know – "

"And who's this?" Mr. Wonka interrupted as he looked at the small man next to him, not giving one hoot about Ginker's titles.

"Dr. Wadd, Mr. Wonka. He is my associate."

"How wonderful! Well, friends are always welcome here," Mr. Wonka said, giving them both an over-the-top smarmy smile. "Come in, come in gentleman! Can I offer you some fish paste and cold water? It's just that I don't normally have guests, and it's my preferred breakfast…"

Charlie bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Ginker and Wadd looked thoroughly disgusted. "No…thank you, Mr. Wonka. I think we should just get on with it."

"Get on with what?"

"The test, Mr. Wonka."

"Test? Shoot. I didn't study. Can you come back next week? Or perhaps this is a pop quiz. I hate those."

"Mr. Wonka – "

"But then why are you here? I knew you were coming. But if you're not here for the fish paste and this isn't a pop quiz, I really can't imagine why you're standing at my office door at this hideous time in the morning."

"Mr. Wonka – "

"Or are you from one of those awful prize radio shows, come to tell me that if I can correctly tell you how much rain falls in Bulgaria every year, then I will win my weight in radishes?"

"_Mr. Wonka." _

"Yes?" he said demurely.

"You know very well why we're here," Ginker said impatiently, his cheeks trembling a bit. Charlie couldn't help but notice how much he resembled a turkey. He even had the flappy skin beneath his chin. "And, if you'd like to stop this mindless banter, we can get down to business."

"Business. Hm. Yes. I see. So this _definitely _isn't about radishes?"

"_No. _Now can we get on with it?" Ginker shrieked.

Wonka gave him an innocent look. "On with what?" he asked calmly.

Ginker's nostrils flared. "Mr. Wonka," he said in what was supposed to be a dangerous voice, but came out more of a desperate rasp.

Wisely, instead of saying another word, Wonka showed them into his office. He'd never seen a vein stick out on someone's forehead like that. Before he closed the doors he threw one last look at his heir. Charlie could have sworn he winked.

Charlie sat outside the door for the next three hours. The doors did their job in keeping noise from leaving the room, and Charlie resisted the urge to lean up against it to listen. It didn't really matter, he felt – he already knew what the outcome would be, and he also knew he couldn't stay in a factory that wasn't really the old Wonka's anymore. He sighed. He was going to miss this place.

"Well, Mr. Wonka, congratulations. It has surely been a pleasure. I'm glad you're feeling better," Ginker said, shaking Wonka's hand in the office doorway a few hours later. Charlie found he'd fallen asleep. "The future will certainly be very bright for you."

"Oh, yes, indeedee," Wonka said quickly. "Oh, I almost forgot!" He fished in his pocket and withdrew a couple of Wonka candy bars, handing one to each of the two men. "Compliment of Wonka's. A brand new candy, hasn't even been released yet!"

"'Reparo,'" Ginker read off the label. He looked up and smiled. "Well, sounds exotic. Are they any good?"

"If they weren't any good, I wouldn't be giving them to you," Wonka said sensibly before leaning closer to Ginker and raising a knowing eyebrow. "And much better than Maple Whip Delights, I might add."

Almost to disprove this theory, Ginker indignantly tore open the wrapper and took a large bite out of the creamy dark brown chocolate within. In seconds, his face contorted into the first genuine smile Charlie had yet seen spread over his face. "Not bad," Ginker conceded merrily. "Not bad at all, Mr. Wonka."

Mr. Wonka looked pleased and nodded affably to the two men. "Now that you're fed, and now that we've had a nice chat, I really can't see what else a wonderful morning visit like this could afford us." Of course, for those who knew Wonka, this invariably meant, _Go away now, you twits. _

"Our pleasure, Mr. Wonka," Ginker said, grabbing his coat from the floor of the hallway and taking another bite of the chocolate. His smile broadened. "It was certainly nice meeting you again."

Though this phrase had always baffled Wonka – how could you _meet _the same person _again? _– he simply smiled, walked them to the door, and shut it hastily behind them. He leaned against the door and gave Charlie the first real Wonka-smile in two months. "Well, I think it worked!" he crowed proudly.

Charlie, who had been watching this spectacle quietly, frowned. "What do you mean it worked?" he said in a low voice. "Judging by the fact that they didn't drag you off in a straight jacket, or demand that my family pack their bags immediately, you seemed to have aced that test. They got what they wanted all along. Ginker was right. It 'fixed' you."

Wonka shook his head excitedly. "Charlie, that's assuming that there was something _to _fix."

The old, nervous, squeaky voice of Mr. Wonka had suddenly returned and Charlie's gaze shot up sharply upon hearing it. "What did you say?" he asked breathlessly, almost too hopeful to breathe.

"Of course! When you _fix _something, it means it was broken. You can't fix something if it's not broken."

"B-But these past two months, Mr. Wonka. You can't deny that you changed."

"My _mind _changed, Charlie. Not me. There's a difference. Your brain is your brain. But you are you." Mr. Wonka smiled at him. "Oh, I wanted to tell you, Charlie. I wanted to tell you all along. And not that I didn't think you'd understand, but don't think I didn't know that _you_ were testing me as much as _they _were testing me."

"Testing you? I don't get it."

Wonka walked towards him until he was only about a foot away, which was quite an intimate nearness for Wonka. "Charlie, you have too little faith. Both in me and in this factory."

Charlie looked hurt. "How can you say that? I'm always the _first _to defend this place. And you."

"Did you know that colonized warriors often fought for Rome when they hadn't even _seen _Rome in the first place?"

"What does that have to do with me?"

"It has _everything _to do with you, dear boy. If you think that this entire factory is simply dependent on something as trivial as sanity, then you've been defending the wrong thing all along. You are defending something you've never even thought about, never even _seen_ in its full, brilliant light. Imagination, Charlie, is something wholly different then what _those _dips wanted me to be."

Charlie shook his head, completely befuddled by this point. "I don't understand, Mr. Wonka. The buttons on the elevator, the machines, the fact that you couldn't make any of your experiments work. What about all that?"

"What about it? That will all come back. Their departure was only temporary." He shifted his weight, leaning in closer to the teenager. "That first night I took the medication, I realized something. I came back to the Inventing Room after dinner without you and began working on those licorice gloves that melt if you stick your finger up your nose. I designed them to discourage nose picking, of course. Anyone who doesn't want to abolish _that _habit must have their eyes sewn on backwards. I looked down at the gloves and thought, 'This is ridiculous! No one would wear these in public, what's the use?' and I threw the whole batch in the incinerator. Then I realized that I had missed the whole _point _of the gloves in the first place! Because anyone who picks their nose in public _deserves _to have gooey licorice running down their arms!

"You can imagine how much this worried me, Charlie. I thought, 'Heavens, the medication _is _doing something to me!' But why then did it even _occur _to me that I was wrong in destroying them? Because imagination is something _different! _It's something _better!_

"But the experiment to see what exactly was going to happen seemed much too interesting to give up. And your reaction intrigued me. You are quick to defend what you don't understand, dear boy. I wondered if you knew you could _trust _me not to change, Charlie. So I kept taking the pills. True, Charlie, the things that we worked on never seemed to work, because I was thinking of _logical _ways to make them work. I wasn't using my imagination. That's why the machines disappeared. That's why whole _rooms _seemed to die and wither away. They weren't being nourished by creativity. Only when I realized what I was missing did I realize that I could put this whole odd situation to good use. It was the _only way. _

"So I began developing a new candy, focusing _solely _on what I was missing. I had my imagination, and that was enough for it to succeed. Only when I harnessed what I wanted, what I needed, did my creativity come to life. It wouldn't, it _couldn't, _with the other candies we were working on, because I was only making those to make people happy, I wasn't trying to _replace _what _I_ feared losing the most. You defend the factory Charlie, and I defend my imagination. That's why it worked."

"But, what candy was it?" Charlie asked, his mind swimming. "None of the things we were working on seemed to work. And besides, if you still had your creativity but not your illogical mind, how could you possibly know if the candy worked or not? How on earth did you test it?"

Mr. Wonka gave Charlie a brilliant smile. "That's my favorite part. Let me show you something."

Wonka escorted Charlie to the enormous entrance door, opened it, and gave a smug look to Charlie. Brows knitted, Charlie looked out into the courtyard, expecting perhaps a colorful array of something in the sky, or at the very least a parade of Oompa-Loopmas hopping about ecstatically, but all he spied were the two backs of the psychologists still making their way to the factory exit. Charlie looked back at Wonka. "I don't see anything."

"Look closer," Wonka whispered.

Charlie peered out again into the mid-morning light. His eyes landed once again on the two men, but this time he noticed something different.

They were happy.

Both Ginker and Wadd were smiling, laughing, and making animated talk to one another. Even their faces had more color. Their steps weren't somber. Their voices were not serious. Ginker even did a little happy kick in the air. Amazed, Charlie turned back to his mentor. "Did you do that?" he asked in an awed voice.

"No," Wonka admitted. "Those 'complimentary new Wonka candies' I gave them did that." Wonka pulled Charlie back in from the cold. "'Reparo' means 'repair' in Portuguese, Charlie. The pills didn't 'fix' me for the same reason that Reparo 'fixed' those two. Can you imagine it? One bar of Wonka's Reparo and your imagination comes to life! Instead of pills to sedate what is left of your creativity, fire up your mind!"

Charlie cocked a suspicious eyebrow. "The ingredients, by any chance, don't include anything like magical mushrooms or exotic weeds, do they?"

Wonka shot him an impatient look. "Charlie, please. The only people who need things like that to be creative are the ones who _aren't _creative to begin with." He sighed. "Chocolate means more to me than just a livelihood. To do an injustice like that wouldn't be – wouldn't be Wonka."

Charlie smiled a bit and crossed his arms. "Fair enough," he said softly. "But how _did _you do it?"

Wonka's eyes twinkled. "Guess," he whispered.

Realization suddenly dawned on Charlie and he erupted into laughter. "Of course," he said. "You added what you missed. And the rest just fell into place. All you needed," he tapped his head, "was this."

"Exactly!" exclaimed the velvet clad candy man cheerfully. "You're catching on, Charlie. We'll make a chocolatier of you yet!"

"All right. Then answer this. How'd _you _ever pass that test?"

"Well," Wonka said as they began to walk down the hallway. "I've had a lot of practice in normalcy these past two months, wouldn't you say? The effects of that medication will wear off because it didn't affect the part of my mind that is vital to my work. Or even who I am. But the effects were enough to show me what I needed to say to those ego-inflated, deranged lunatics who tested me. I told you I would be fine. You know me well enough to know I'm not a liar. All of that was good practice."

"You shut down rooms in the factory. Made them disappear. Made all of the wonderful stuff that makes Wonka's Factory _Wonka's Factory _vanish. All that for practice?"

"Uh huh," Mr. Wonka said proudly with a smile. "I did."

"You made me think you'd gone absolutely sane, for _practice?_" Charlie made an exasperated sound. "Are you _crazy?" _

"Of course I am," Mr. Wonka said, unruffled. He brushed some invisible dust from his jacket. "Else none of this would have happened in the first place. Sanity is in the eye of the beholder. See?"

For once, Charlie couldn't argue this explanation and shrugged, looking crestfallen. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right. I guess I still have a lot to learn, hm?"

"Don't take it so hard, dear boy. You've just learned the most important lesson of all," Wonka smiled as he opened the door to the Chocolate Room to let them inside. The wonderful smell of Mrs. Bucket's lunchtime culinary delights were already beginning to waft across the meadow.

"To never, ever underestimate Willy Wonka…"

_FIN_(ally)

* * *

Dear readers, you really didn't think that after subjecting you to my previous story, I would subject you to anything other than _light-hearted _insanity this time?

Have faith, dear readers.

And why Portuguese?

Why not?

- _Hopper _


End file.
